Vice Versa
by scullyseviltwin
Summary: All of this melodrama is really pathetic, isn't it?


The sadness that weighs her down is distinct in that it cloys like static and hovers in her joints. The only way to relate it to something would be to call it numbness but it's not; she can still feel all-too-well. Olivia can't accurately calculate how many times she's picked up her phone to dial him and isn't going to try. What good would that do?

It's hard and she knows that he knows and vice versa because it's one of those things that lingers in their gazes as their gazes linger. There's no ridding themselves of it, either; it's been there dormant for far too long. There's no shaking it, no hiding it anymore, though that doesn't mean that either of them really need to put it out there all the way.

They no longer talk, not really. They instead do. He brushes his hand against her thigh while reaching for the gear shift and she puts her hand on his shoulder while he's sitting and she's standing and they're all a little too wrapped up in what Alex has to say about a case and his palm easily finds the small of her back as they walk into and out of elevators. It's a new rhythm that they have established but they don't talk and it makes her so sad and weighs her down until she doesn't think she'll ever be able to move again.

When, at the end of a particularly trying day he presses against her back and walks her into the elevator, she says, "Oh god," like it means something. Elliot nods, and so maybe they can both acknowledge that it does.

-

It's one of those things, you know? She doesn't know how to live without him and she can't even fathom how it would be if she had more of him and maybe that's why it's tough.

-

He actually kisses her, once, one time, when they're doing that thing where they sit on her stoop and pretend to think about why everything is so fucked up. It's beyond cold and her scarf is covering her face and he has to hook a finger in it to get access to her mouth. Both pairs of lips are chapped and he only holds his to hers for a second but when he breaks away, she says, "You make me want to cry. All the time."

He doesn't know what that means, and neither does she really and so she cries a little and he looks off in the distance towards the intersection. The light turns green.

"All of this melodrama is really pathetic, isn't it?"

Olivia chokes around a sob, "Yeah."

Too much talking.

-

There are no divorce papers to sign because in a fit of Catholic righteousness, he rips them up in front of Kathy and tells her, "Fuck, we're going to make this work," even though all of the fight has gone out of her and he kind of knows it. It's just another boundary, this marriage, maybe... between he and his partner and how unfair is that? And how unfair to shield himself with the statues of religion and his God?

He tells her that they're going to make it work and then he fucks her in their bed before the kids get home from school.

The next day, he tells Olivia that they're thinking of installing a jacuzzi on the back deck and she just laughs and laughs and laughs, dabs at the corner of her eyes with shaking fingers. "What?" he asks.

"Oh, nothing. Nothing," she responds breathlessly, stands out of her chair and walks towards the restroom, shaking her head and chuckling. How fucking perfect, really.

-

Of course they're both drunk, and as she slides her mouth over him, he says her name so perfectly that she knows this was how it's supposed to happen. Her knees sticky from the grit of the floor, stranger banging at the door, waiting to get in.

They're saying their goodnights weeks later and he stands next to her at the lockers, all alone in their dark corner and he's staring at her, staring at her face. She can't look up at him, but waits for him to speak. He says "I came in that mouth," but it's not a crass thing. It's words whispered in need and in pain and she's crushed by the look in his eyes and the lines around his mouth.

Olivia leans her forehead against the cool metal in front of her, swears under her breath. Apropos that the words can form here, right _here_. "I need more of you," Elliot grits and grabs his coat.

He's gone.

-

Olivia takes it; she takes it all because what else is there? Is there anything else besides this painful, casual existence that they both share? Is it what she's worth, these fleeting glances and stolen moments? Is this all he's capable of? Can they be anything more than the excuse for a 'this' that they are? Not partners, not lovers, barely friends but needing to be all of those things, needing to be more.

This isn't just a slippery slope, it's an uphill climb on an incline that's covered in black ice.

-

Something has to change at some point, it's just the natural progression of things, of life. There's the scent of coffee and winter and he tucks himself more comfortably into his peacoat, fiddles with the radio knobs, the heat, anything to keep his hands occupied so he won't touch her. His fidgeting is making her nervous and just when she's about to swat his hands away from the dash, he rests his hand on her.

"I don't know why you're letting me get away with this shit," he mumbles out the window of the sedan as they're waiting in more, more, _more_ traffic and his hand is laying hot on her thigh. They're always sitting and waiting together and it's getting to be too much.

She's got her own window to stare out of, and she commits to it fiercely. "I don't know why you put me through this."

And Springsteen is on the radio and they avoid one another's eyes, so there's that.

There's something.

-

"I wish that maybe... things hadn't gone the way they did." There's coffee in his hand (there's always coffee in their hands these days) and they're waiting for a witness to arrive to the precinct. On the sidewalk, the air is biting and promising snow and Olivia can't help but puff out her exasperation with him in tiny bursts of white.

Hands in her pockets, it's the easiest to shrug it off and mention, "Well, that's the way they did. And that was _alllll_ you." Her chin it to the gray sky so she doesn't have to look at him processing all of this.

"And it's not fair," he claims and gulps down a few sips.

"What?"

Elliot waits until she's looking over at him. "That you know me so damn well."

-

He wants to say that it gets to be too much sometimes, that everything does. Elliot doesn't vocalize it but she can tell from the set of his shoulders, the way he keeps biting his lip. "Think you'll ever be done with this?" She knows what he's talking about and he knows that she knows but she can't help but fall into her old habit.

And her head rolls towards him, her eyes slowly filtering up to meet his, like it's a feat, like it's something she really has to work for. "I love. This. Job." Her conviction carries and it's only a second or two before they both realize that she's not talking about her shield, the NYPD, the people who make out her checks.

It's different.

On the crosstown expressway it's been bared, and neither one of them quite know what to do with that. He sighs and she returns her gaze out at the traffic that's whizzing by and they pretend like it never happened. Or they could, they could both enter in on that ruse, but he chooses not to as he throws on the right-hand blinker with more force than necessary.

He's always more-than-necessary.

"Yeah, me too."

They head towards the Tappan Zee and don't bother breathing.


End file.
